


Ebb and Flow

by Anon_E_Miss



Series: Becoming [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_E_Miss/pseuds/Anon_E_Miss
Summary: For Jazz Week using my own prompts readers voted on a while back.Prowl and Jazz are contently building a life and family together. But spectres from Prowl's past are not yet done their torment. With Two Bit and Jazz at his side, this is a trial Prowl believes he can survive.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Becoming [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985419
Comments: 122
Kudos: 115





	1. Hope

Prowl locked the shop’s door began the quick walk home. Two Bit trot along at his side. Business was good. Some of Swivel’s oldest customers had turned their olfactory ridges up at him and Two Bit but Prowl had stayed the course. He would not make himself vulnerable by separating himself from his service-mechanimal. The posh mechanisms who sneered at Two Bit reminded Prowl a little of his procreators which only strengthened his resolve. With Jazz’s help Prowl had created a social media page for the shop, as well as an e-commerce platform. There were still plenty of walk ins, but a growing number of Prowl’s orders came in through that platform. It was the preferred manner of shopping amongst the younger generation, his generation, but more so Jazz’s.

There was a full generation between them. Jazz was only fifty vorns old, Prowl was almost one hundred vorns. It was not an especially significant age gap given the longevity of their species but it felt significant to Prowl. He worried Jazz was wasting his young adult vorns with him. His worries did not dissuade Jazz, not even a little. Of course Prowl was not so old that he looked anything but in his prime, but given all his issues Prowl still felt, too often, that he was already used up. But when Jazz looked at him, Prowl did not feel so deflated or so warn, and when Jazz touched him Prowl’s spark felt light, and he felt beautiful and desirable. Jazz desired him, and more importantly than that, Jazz loved him. Most importantly of all, Jazz loved Smokescreen and Two Bit.

Jazz had Smokescreen right now. With university out of session, Jazz had no classes to attend and he insisted on minding Smokescreen when it was needed, rather than leaving him at a sparkling centre. Most mega-cycles Prowl brought Smokescreen with him to the shop, but when he had the large volume of orders as he had had this mega-cycle, it was easiest to have Smokescreen out from under ped. In any case, there was work to be done at home. Jazz was moving in with him and Smokescreen, a process that had been slowly coming into fruition over the last several quartexes.

It had been accidental at first. Jazz had spent so much time at home with Prowl and Smokescreen that he had left a jar of wax in the washracks, and then a chest of a few things, tools for tending to his instruments, in the berthroom. Bit by bit more of Jazz’s possessions, more of his life trickled into Prowl’s habsuite, until Prowl had started to think of it as their habsuite. Jazz had sold off the furnishing he did not need, most of them, and packed up the knick knacks, the things he had not brought over when he had just been “visiting”. His brother was supposed to be helping him, which would be important with Smokescreen under ped. They had planned for Smokescreen to stay with Prowl had the shop, but he had had so many orders, Jazz had insisted he and Ricochet could handle the move and Smokescreen. Since Prowl had not received a frantic comm call, Prowl imagined it had gone well.

He climbed up the steps to his habsuite. Though Prowl had thought he would move in the aftermath of his procreators’ ambush, this habsuite felt too much like home to leave, and Prowl had asked himself if he was willing to let his procreators run him out of his own life. The answer had been no. It was still no. They had not reappeared since he had locked them out, since they had harassed Swivel, since Jazz had torn a strip off them. Prowl had not received a visit from SPS and he was beginning to believe it would not come. Perhaps his procreators, for all their arrogance, had realized it would be the single thing that would ensure this estrangement between them would be permanent, that it would have been a bridge burnt that could not hope to be rebuilt. Prowl hoped this meant they were considering how their conduct had caused a breach that might never be mended, and he hoped this would be the end of it. At some point he might be ready to reach out to them, or perhaps they were just another wound in his passed.

“Oh Oh!” Smokescreen called to him as he raised over on his short, chubby legs. He latched himself to Prowl’s leg and hugged it tightly. His optics were sparkling with delight as he looked up at his originator. Prowl gingerly bend down and lifted him up. Prowl was no longer so terrified to do this. His spark did not race so badly when he dared to pick up his creation. Thought Prowl was not brave or reckless enough to carry Smokescreen around outside, in his habsuite, with Two Bit and Jazz close at servo, Prowl finally felt safe.

“Uh oh?” Ricochet asked from his perch on the couch. The move appeared to have been successful. There were open crates in the living room. Unpacking would take place over the coming mega-cycles. Prowl had no artwork on his walls, and not much in the way of trinkets beyond those that were made by Smokescreen. The things Jazz was bringing into the habsuite would make it that much more homey. Prowl saw a carpet rolled up in the corner. It could be nice in front of the couch, a softer surface for Smokescreen to play on.

“Oh Oh,” Prowl replied. He cuddled Smokescreen, breathed in his sweet scented and felt comforted. Jazz’s twin made him nervous. Ricochet’s judgment of him would more easily sway Jazz than anyone else’s. Prowl did not wish to make a poor impression, but he was not sure how he could make a positive one. “It is what he calls me.”

“That’s cute,” Ricochet said.

“Oof?” Two Bit seemed to ask as he stepped around Prowl, standing between him and Ricochet.

“Friend, Two Bit,” Prowl said. More often than not, Prowl released Two Bit from his watch as soon as they came home, but Ricochet made him nervous, and Prowl was less embarrassed to lean on his service mechanimal that he would be if he crashed in front of the mech.

“Hey, Gorgeous,” Jazz called as he stepped from the kitchen. He crossed the living room and greeted Prowl with a kiss. It was lovely to come home to this.

“Me too!” Smokescreen demanded and Jazz chuckled before giving the sparkling the kiss he demanded.

“I got dinner simmering. Did ya have a good cycle?”

“Good and productive,” Prowl replied. “The website you coded for me has been serving me so well I may need to hire a shop helper.”

“That’s awesome,” Jazz smiled at him. “But it’s yer talent’s the reason business is boomin’, I just took some pictures and put’em out there for more mechanisms to see.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said. Jazz was his cheerleader, as was Swivel. It was uplifting to have mechanisms in his corner, and not laying in wait for the moment he failed. “Did you get everything moved?”

“Got it handled,” Jazz replied. “Ricochet’s new roomie’s movin’ in tomorrow. Smokescreen was a big help wit clean up. He’s got a cute song.”

“He is equally likely to sing the Clean Up song while he’s making a mess,” Prowl said. “I appreciate you taking him along.”

“I like havin’ bondin’ time wit’m, Prowl.”

Ricochet stayed for dinner. The longer Prowl was around him, the more at ease he felt and it was not long before he released Two Bit from his watch and just relaxed as they all shared a good meal, and good company. Jazz was the more personable and charming of the brother’s, but Ricochet had a quick wit, and a good sense of humour. Though he teased Jazz with an ease that came from a lifetime together, he sank no barbs into Prowl, something he appreciated, at least for now. When Prowl insisted on helping Jazz with the dishes after dinner, Ricochet took Smokescreen and told him Uncle Rico would play with him while the grown ups did the dirty work. Prowl tried to hide his smile as he washed a pan. He had not be sure how Ricochet would treat Smokescreen, or how critical he might be of their relationship, hearing him claim Smokescreen as his nephew was pleasing.

“I wanted to talk wit ya ‘bout somethin’,” Jazz said as he placed the clean pan into the drying rack. “Smokey called me Geni earlier.”

“Oh,” Prowl said. He stared ahead for a moment, optics unseeing, as his tactical systems took over for a few nanokliks as they analyzed Jazz’s tone. When Prowl broke free he was smiling. “That’s lovely.”

“I was worried ya might be mad,” Jazz explained. “I really don’t wanna step on yer peds.”

“Did you like him calling you geni?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah. More than anythin’,” Jazz replied.

“I am glad. You earned it. You love him like a progenitor. You play with him, you teach him like a progenitor. I am so grateful you would want to play that part for him.”

“I wanna do more than play it,” Jazz said. “Ya know, I thought I’d set a better scene. Some music ‘n crystals, or something.”

“Jazz?” Prowl asked, as he turned to face the other mech. Jazz took his servos and kissed his palms. When he straightened, he placed a crest in Prowl’s servo. “Jazz?”

“Prowl, would ya do me the honour of bondin’ wit me ‘n give me permission to adopt Smokey for my own?”

“Yes!” Prowl cried. He tossed his arms around Jazz’s neck and kissed him with untold delight. “There is nothing I want more than to be your Conjunx, and call your Smokescreen’s progenitor. I would love to be a family with you.”

“Do ya think ya’d wanna give Smokey a sibling?” Jazz asked. Prowl beamed.

“Only one?”


	2. Joy

Prowl felt a bittersweet pang when he and Jazz cuddled on the couch in the joors after Ricochet had gone home and they had put Smokescreen down to recharge. He and Polaris had planned on having a bonding ceremony after Smokescreen had emerged, after their bond could not longer be denied. There had been no question that Polaris’ side would have made up more of the guests. Though Prowl had been convinced his procreators would have come around at that point, there really had not been anyone else he had really wanted to invite. The enforcers from his station? Only if he had cared to pay any mind to appearances. None of them had been friends to him. Though they had not necessarily been enemies. They had all had too much fun with the discord that had followed the falling out between Prowl and Tumbler. He leaned into Jazz and willed that designation from his processor. Two Bit lifted his helm as he lay sprawled in front of the couch. Jazz ruffled the cyberdog’s helm, and pulled Prowl into his arms.

Jazz pulled him down to so Prowl was resting his helm on his lap. As he stroked Prowl’s helm, the Praxian vented with contentment. After the horrific way he had lost Polaris, Prowl had not believed he would love and trust another. He had been wrong, because he loved Jazz wholly and completely, and he knew he was loved just as deeply, and just as completely. Prowl did not feel like a burden with Jazz, neither did he feel like a pawn. What he felt was wanted, and trusted, and it meant everything to him. Jazz had healed him, it was almost a funny thought but it was true. Jazz had taught him to trust himself again.

Though he felt some spark ache over the ceremony planning, Prowl knew he wanted a celebration. He wanted it for Jazz, and he wanted it for himself. His procreators would not be there, if they found out about the bonding it would not be from is glossa. The thought hurt a little but Prowl would not let them, or the thought of them ruin this for him. There were mechanisms who would sit on his side of the aisle. Swivel. Oiler. Smokescreen would be there, the dearest mechanism of all to him. Jazz would have Ricochet and his friends. They would have a small ceremony, and a little party. It would not be the show his procreators had once imagined for him. Small and intimate suited Prowl so much more than spectacle.

“I love ya, Prowl,” Jazz said as he stroked Prowl helm. He smiled. He never got tired of hearing those glyphs.

“I love you,” Prowl replied. “You brought light back into my life.”

“I will always be a light for ya,” Jazz promised, and he stroked Prowl’s cheek with his thumb. “Always. Ya ‘n Smokey are a blessings to me. ‘M so glad ya let me into your lives.”

He was not a burden. Jazz had helped Prowl see he was not a broken mech, and he did not need to prove himself to be anything to anyone. As he was, Prowl was loved and wanted. There was no way he needed to improve, as he was was plenty, as he was was good. His glitch was not a shame to be battled. His anxieties were not foolish or juvenile. The life he was making, the life they were making was good. Prowl’s frame warmed and his optics sparkled and he pushed up so he straddle Jazz’s lap, and kiss him. Jazz’s frame warmed with his. His servos trailed Prowl’s back, and gently cradled his doorwings as he thumbed the edges. Pleasure suffused Prowl. This was good.

As their frames warmed further Prowl ordered Two Bit to his berth. The cyberdog stretched and yawned before lumbering off after casting the mechs an almost knowing look. They made slow and tender love. It was not the first time they had interfaced, nowhere close, but the feelings of Jazz’s spike filling him, and his servos caressing him remained novel to Prowl. He rocked against his intended, his love as he braced himself on Jazz’s shoulders. Jazz looked up at him with rapturous love, and Prowl luxuriated in his stare. Within its chamber, Prowl’s spark swelled. They had brushed sparks, but they had not merged and Prowl found himself wanting, desperately wanting. He split his armour just a little, just so his spark’s glow could peak through.

“Merge with me?” Prowl asked, tentatively. Jazz reached up, and cupped Prowl’s face in his servos.

“Yes,” he said as his own armour split and the brilliant light of his spark spilled into the dimly lit room. “I want to feel ya. I want to know ya. I want to show ya just how deep my love for you goes.”

Jazz’s love was deeper than the deepest sea and it filled Prowl’s spark so completely he would never suffer a single doubt again. There was no dark and wounded corner he did not reach. Prowl hid nothing away as his spark embraced Jazz and matched that fathomless love with his own. The ecstasy Prowl felt as his deepest wounds were acknowledge and soothed was intense, and his higher consciousness fell away as their merged sparks became the centre of his existence. His vocalizer shorted as overload consumed him. Love, light and life erupted from the very core of their merged sparks. He did not know where his overload ended and Jazz’s began, but it did not matter.

Some time later they lay tangled together, having dragged themselves to their berth. Their sparks separated but still bared to each other. Prowl stared at Jazz as his intended recharged, basking in the afterglow of their love. He smiled when Jazz stretched out a servo in his recharged and dragged Prowl to him. Their chassis touched. Prowl felt the loving radiation of Jazz’s spark and he smiled as Jazz’s arms wrapped tightly around him. He had no desire whatsoever to pull away, and instead cradled Jazz to him, and sighed as he was wrapped in the tender love of his creations’ progenitor. Creations? Prowl’s optics brightened and then dimmed as he smiled knowingly. A most peaceful joy filled him as he _knew_ the newspark kindled in him settled into a low orbit around his spark. Prowl’s optics dimmed and he drifted down to recharge. Jazz would know their creation in the light-cycle.


	3. Bond

The patio was filled with love. Prowl was in a state of complete and utter bliss. Ricochet had booked the roof top patio above the bar he worked at for the ceremony and after party. After he had made the offer, Prowl had not been able to imagine a more perfect setting for the bonding of his and Jazz’s sparks than at sunrise on the pretty patio. He filled it will crystals Swivel had insisted on supplying, and he and Prowl had arranged with help from Oiler and Slide and his kin. Oiler’s brother was a charming young mech, and a dutiful creation to Swivel. He had come to Iacon with his sister and procreator, and brought along his mate and creations so they might visit old friends in the city. There had been no real need for him to help, but he had insisted, and his mate and creations had insisted on helping too. Swivel’s grandcreations had been kind enough to mind Smokescreen while Prowl had worked on arrangements. When Prowl had worried he might be taking advantage, Jazz had suggested inviting them to the celebration as thanks. Thus they were seated with Swivel in the horseshoe. Ricochet had conscripted his roommate as free labour throughout the orn of preparation and thus Barricade was seated with him and Jazz’s close friends.

Prowl could hear laughter and it warmed him to his struts. This was not the formal affair his procreators would have expected. They were not in a grand temple. There were only a dozen guests. From his position in the alcove, Prowl could see the sun setting behind the archway. It was perfect and it was beautiful. In his arms, Smokescreen giggled and fidgeted and Prowl bounced him on his hip. At his side Two Bit was standing at attention, looking especially charming wearing a garland of crystals around his neck. He and Jazz had talked about how they had wanted Smokescreen involved. Both of them had wanted him up there with them. Their bond was as much about him as each other. In the end they had decided that Prowl would carry Smokescreen up. The act remained a novelty. He was often still hesitant to do it. But with Two Bit’s harness in his servo, and Smokescreen on his hip, Prowl felt safe, and he felt steady. One of Jazz’s friends, a mech called Blaster was serving as DJ, at an unseen signal he took his cue and the opening march began to play.

Jazz had chosen the music. Blaster was his friend from his side gig, performing live music at bars a couple of ornends a quartex. Prowl enjoyed listening to Jazz play, though it was a rare opportunity. The reality was, as Jazz said, the gigs were not going to pay his bills, so he focused on school for the sake of his and now their future. While Prowl realized he was biased he hoped Jazz would take more gigs as he was offered them. Music was the passion he denied himself, and Prowl had come to find having your avocation and your occupation in sync was as close to perfection as could exist. As the happy melody played, Prowl stepped from the alcove, from the parallel corner of the patio, Jazz stepped out, looked across to him and smiled.

They walked around the outside of the horseshoe and met in the centre, in front of the adorned archway and the waiting priest. Smokescreen waved his arms and reached for Jazz, who stepped in so the sparkling could plant a messy kiss on his cheek. There were coos of approval from their guests, which came as no surprise to Prowl. These mechanisms were full of love and joy for them. He smiled. As the priest spoke the liturgy, he and Jazz stepped close together. They could not join servos, Prowl’s were occupied. Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl and this felt so much better. As they stood, all but blind and deaf to anyone but each other, Jazz spoke his vows.

He had written them himself. They were a promise, to Prowl, to Smokescreen, to the family they would grow together, he promised his unconditional love and loyalty. To Two Bit, Jazz added he promised to sneak him the choice scrap when he prepared dinner, and to honour the service he performed for Prowl. The glyphs brought tears of joy to Prowl’s optics. As he blinked away the tears Prowl spoke his own vows. He had also written them himself, though he thought they paled to Jazz’s sweet and humorous promises. Prowl promised his love was infinite, and their life a garden he promised to grow and nurture for all the rest of their mega-cycles. When the time came to forge the bond, Ricochet took Smokescreen and held him on his shoulders. Prowl smiled up at his creation before he looked back into Jazz’s optics.

The bond had already been forged, this was a secret they held sacred together. They had bonded sparks, a tie that would bind them until they went to the Well, the light-cycle after they had first merged, after Prowl had revealed to Jazz that they had kindled that dark-cycle. He had bared his spark so Jazz could catch a glimpse of the newspark. Filled with joyous gratitude, Jazz had pulled Prowl into his arms, as asked him to bond, then and there so their creation would know them both from his very beginning. Prowl had been thrilled to. They had merged almost every dark-cycle since then. Rather than the slog he had experienced at this stage of his carrying with Smokescreen, Prowl felt energized. When they spark met and the priest blessed the bond between them Prowl smiled with serene bliss. In his spark he felt and heard Jazz’s promise and love, and he heard Jazz’s declaration of love to the newspark still only just beginning to grow within Prowl.

They separated before any overload built, pleasure would come later. Smokescreen just about dove into Prowl’s arms and he kissed his origin noisily before he demanded a kiss from his geni. Prowl felt blessed beyond all measure. Polaris had love Smokescreen dearly, so dearly that Prowl was certain he would be relieved to know that Jazz loved Smokescreen as his own. The priest wrote a glyph of blessing over Smokescreen’s spark and Prowl felt, just for a moment, and approval from beyond his own spark. He was certain Polaris, if he had anyway to know, knew and approved.

The chairs were packed away, tables of goodies lined one side of the patio. There was no assigned seating, though there were tables and chairs to be shared by any who wanted one. Jazz and Prowl mingled with their guests, arm and arm. Smokescreen delighted in playing with Swivel’s grandcreations under the old mech’s watchful optic. He seemed to delight in being the wizened patriarch, supervising the festivities. Prowl was so grateful he had come, not merely because of his much needed help with all the crystals, but for his presence. Next to Jazz, Swivel had been only the second mechanism in so long a time to believe in Prowl. That belief, and the wisdom and nurturing he had given Prowl was priceless to him. One of Jazz’s friends, a sleek Towers mech designated Mirage took a seat off to the side and played the harp as Jazz danced together as their guests, and Two Bit watched on.

It was the perfect evening, and Prowl said as much as Jazz twirled him under the stars. Jazz smiled at him with unflinching love, it was the perfect beginning. As their guests joined them on the dance floor, Jazz scooped Smokescreen up and held him as they all three danced together. From the corner of Prowl’s optic he saw Ricochet dragged Barricade onto the floor. The other Praxian put up a token bit of resistance before he got into the music. Prowl had only spoken a few glyphs to Barricade, it was paranoid of him but he feared the bouncer was a plant by his procreators, but Prowl knew this was a ridiculous notion. The evening wound down and Prowl sipped on midgrade as Jazz enjoyed some engex. Their guests were slowly trickling off to home, Ricochet and Barricade remained to help with the clean up.

“No engex for ya?” Ricochet asked Prowl. For a moment Prowl hesitated. Jazz’s arm was around his waist, and he felt his Conjunx’s grip tighten just a little. Brushing away his doubts, Prowl smiled and leaned into Jazz.

“My fuel tank is delicate at this stage.”

“Delicate...” Ricochet echoed and he looked to Jazz who beamed with pride.

“We’re havin’ a bitty,” Jazz explained and he kissed Prowl’s cheek.

“Really?” Ricochet asked and for a moment Prowl’s doubt’s returned. Then Ricochet grinned, and pulled the newly bonded pair into a hug. “Couldn’t wait eh? Congrats, Jazzy. Prowl. Smokey’s gonna be a great big brother.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said and he smiled, feeling a new fondness for is brother in law. “I think so as well.”


	4. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the angst begins.
> 
> You all know this was coming. Or if you didn't you must be new to my sandbox. 
> 
> I am not sorry.

Jazz walked down the street, whistling the tune he had just recorded in the co-operative studio Blaster had hooked him up with. It was a bit of a juggle, finding a couple of joors to work on recordings in and around his coursework and his family life. He delighted in the juggling. With Prowl’s encouragement, Jazz had changed his major. With duel education and music degrees Jazz would have what he needed to teach music in Iacon’s public school system. Maybe it was not the path to any great fortune but they did not need a fortune. They had a beautiful life as it was, Jazz only wanted to do his fair share of the providing. He wanted to take care of his family.

The pressure to provide did not come from Prowl, he was perfectly content with paying the lion’s share of their bills. Between the settlement and the salary he brought home from the crystal shop, they had enough shanix for their little habsuite. Jazz felt the pressure from within himself. It had always been there. When he had been a youngling he had done jobs for the goons that had controlled the Dead End streets so that he could take some of the load off his single origin. He had never had dreams of being a kept mech, that was not who he was. That was not to say he wanted to keep Prowl either. Jazz knew how important it was for Prowl to have a function and a meaning in his life. The crystal shop gave him a joyful purpose, and as Prowl grew heavier with their creations Jazz had already committed himself to spending full mega-cycles there with him so that Prowl would not feel the need to do any heavy lifting.

As it was, he went with Prowl to the Auction each light-cycle, and loaded all their goods into the trailer Swivel had purchased for the purpose eons ago. Despite the heinously early joor, Jazz enjoyed attending the Auction with Prowl, and watching the carts of colourful and curious crystals come up to the block. Prowl never got caught up in auction fever, Jazz sometimes did but Prowl never complained if they came away with buckets of quartz for a few shanix more than Prowl would have paid. There were so many pretty and practical things to buy. As Prowl became more and more confident in his own style as a florist, he branched out more with the containers he ordered, and Jazz loved being with him, encouraging him all the while. When he had stopped to help Prowl in the concourse that light-cycle Jazz had not imagined how quickly he would fall in love with the mech, or how much more beautiful life was with him and Smokescreen in it.

“Jazz,” Prowl’s beautiful tenor had a waver in it as he greeted Jazz, and Jazz’s smile flattened. Seeing Prowl sitting on the floor with his arms around Two Bit told him a great deal. He locked the door at his back and crossed the floor to join his beloved Conjunx Endura.

“What happened, Babe?”

“An attorney from the Hall of Justice was here,” Prowl explained. His face was stained with tears. Two Bit had his helm on his shoulder, comforting and grounding him. “Chromedome was supposed to have pled guilty yester-cycle. He changed his processor at the last nanoklik. It is going to trial. I am going to have to testify. I am going to have to see his faceplates. Jazz, I do not know if I can.”

“That sack of scrap,” Jazz cursed. The case, from what Enforcer Nightbeat had said, was solid, all but airtight. Was Chromedome a fool, or perhaps insane? Or was he hoping to torture Prowl by forcing him to relieve the moment he had shot Smokescreen’s progenitor to save his and their creations lives over and over?

“I do not know if I can bare it,” Prowl said. “I have to. I cannot have him walk free because I am too much of a coward.”

“Ya ain’t a coward,” Jazz said, and he stroked Prowl’s cheekplates and stared into his optics. “Y’re the bravest ‘n strongest mechanism I have ever met. Ya won’t be alone, Babe. I’ll be wit ya. Two Bit will be wit ya ‘n when they sentence that peace of scrap to termination or spark containment y’ll know ya gave Polaris the justice he deserved.”

“I do not feel strong,” Prowl replied.

“I know,” Jazz said. “I know, Babe. Lemme take ya home. We’ll put on a movie ‘n have a cuddle wit Smokey. We can do this.”

Jazz did not know what had possessed Chromedome to plead not guilty, all he knew that it was a hideous lie. The mech was guilty as sin. Every scrap of evidence had made that abundantly clear. The Hall of Justice had offered him a generous deal, one that would guarantee his lives was saved. As Prowl crawled into Jazz; arms, and buried in face in his neck, Jazz felt energon lust like he had never known. The only thing that would give Jazz any satisfaction was if this stunt cost Chromedome his helm. He could only hope. And pray.


	5. Pet

Time seemed to dragged. Quartexes and then stellar-cycles. Jazz took a leave of absence from his schooling so he could be where he was needed most, at Prowl’s side. Prowl had tried to tell him that he should continue the semester, and on to the next, but his spark had not been in it. While his vocalizer had spoken the glyphs, Prowl’s optics had been pleading for something very different. There was no way Jazz would leave him for joors on end. His processor would not have been able to focus on coursework anyways, not when he knew Prowl was preparing to face his worst nightmare.

For Smokescreen’s sake, Prowl did not turtle. He got up every light-cycle and he care for his creations, and opened his shop. The business was growing and Jazz made himself useful, not just with the heavy lifting but the deliveries as well. Because it was important to him, Jazz earned his keep. As Chosen One’s Cycle approached, the web store was churning out a processor-boggling number of prebooks. A local reporter had stopped in just the other mega-cycle had had featured the shop in their piece about small businesses. Jazz had a print out of the cover picture on the fridge at home, and another in his subspace. The photographer had capture Prowl putting the finishing touches on a sweet little posy as he cradled his tiny little bump with one servo. Orders had started just pouring in after the article, and the drop in business had jumped up too. Jazz did not think he was the only one who had been moved by the photo.

In the orn before Chosen One’s Cycle the cooler was filled the brim with raw crystals and completed orders. Prowl could not afford to take the time to attend the Auction himself, and so Jazz went for him. Because of the importance of the cycle, and the scale of the orders, he treated Prowl’s need and want list as holy books. The shop was too busy to have Smokescreen under ped, dear as he was, so he was spending his mega-cycles in the sparkling centre but he love the one they had moved him to, just around the corner from the shop. They were almost to busy to think of the spectre of the impending trial, almost. Sometimes Jazz caught Prowl sitting on his stool, with Two Bit’s helm in his lap, staring at nothing with unshed tears in his optics. He knew Prowl did not want to put his grief on his shoulders but Jazz would not let him carry it alone. Jazz did not begrudge Prowl his grief, and he was not jealous of Polaris’ memory. When Prowl could not bring himself to ask for help or for comfort, Jazz gave it anyways. He loved this mech with every fibre of his being.

The assistant prosecutor appear at mid-cycle on Chosen One’s Cycle. Jazz paused, arms laden with orders to take out on delivery as the Praxian entered the shop. The shop’s comm was ringing, and ringing, but Prowl ignored it. He had no more product to sell. Every last crystal scrap was committed to a customer. Though Jazz had seen the mech, Prowl was too caught up in the arrangement he was building to notice the newcomer. There was a sold out sign on the door. A few last minute customers had tried to come in and wheedle something out of Prowl but he had no patience for it. When one had whined Prowl had asked why he would punish someone who had been organized and had planned in advance to save them from their poor planning? The mech had stammered and Prowl had said he could fill an order for the next mega-cycle but not for Chosen One’s Cycle. He still had not looked up from the arrangement, and Jazz hung back and waited. The attorney cleared his vocalizer. Prowl looked up, frowning.

“Now is not the time,” Prowl said.

“I tried to comm,” the attorney said.

“I am not answering the comm,” Prowl replied, tersely. “It has been ringing non stop since dawn with last minute customers hoping for a miracle. I do not happen to stock them.”

“We need to talk about the trial.”

“Not this cycle.”

“It’s crucial...”

“It is Chosen One’s Cycle. The second busiest cycle of the florist’s calendar. I have dozens of orders left to fill. I do not have time to talk about the trial. Come back tomorrow.”

Jazz was pleased. Previous visits from this mech had left Prowl frozen and Jazz loathed him too much to think of him as anything but _the lawyer_. He wanted them to build a solid case. He wants Chromedome to have his spark ripped out and his frame tossed into the smelter. Ideally he would prefer him just be tossed, still alive into a smelter but Jazz knew that was a barbaric and ancient method of execution. Praxus was too civilized for it, more the pity. More than Jazz wanted justice for Prowl, for Smokescreen, for Polaris, he wanted Prowl safe and healthy and this particular prosecutor was a bulldozer. He pushed too much, and he had no patience. While Jazz knew the slagtard’s defence would be worse, he did not like seeing Prowl bullied, and he really did not like seeing Prowl allow himself to be bullied. His mate and come so far and grown so strong. It made his seethe to watch someone pushes him down. Jazz set his load down, walked to the door and held it for _the lawyer._ The smile he gave the mech was anything but friend. At least the dumb aft took his queue, Jazz locked the door behind him. As the comm rang again, he walked over to the wall and manually deactivated it. Then he walked over to Prowl and kissed his cheek.

“Comm me direct if ya need me,” he said. “I’ll bring donuts on my way back.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied. His flinty expression soften. “I love you.”

“I love ya too, Babe.”

It was not a burden to do the deliveries. They could have used couriers but that would have eaten into the profits. Prowl wanted to buy the shop from Swivel outright before the bitlets emerged.  He had interest in doing events, something Swivel had moved away from as he had aged. Jazz thought with both his skill and his organization he would knock bondings out of the park. It all took investment, and it all took time. Before the bitlets came Prowl would hire some staff to take care of the shop as he focused on their twins.  Whether Prowl spent a full vorn away from the business after the twins emerged remained to be seen, but if he wanted to go to work, they would be safe to go with him. Jazz knew with complete certainty that Prowl would have them with him, wherever he went. His procreators had stolen so many of Smokescreen’s firsts from Prowl, they would not steal a single moment with the twins.

Chosen One’s Cycle when you were bonded to a florist was definitely a different experience. Jazz would not, could not just buy some crystals and some goodies and call it a job well done. Prowl was working his digits to the struts so other mechanisms could give their dearest loves a beautiful and meaningful gift, and Jazz believed he deserved to be well rewarded. Naturally, he would see to it that it was done. Prowl’s gifts were waiting at home.  The clerks at the Auction had teased him mercilessly for buying crystals for Prowl, but the  bizmuth and rutile were glorious multicoloured crystals that Prowl would never think to buy for himself or for the shop, they were some of the most expensive varieties in the market. Jazz knew Prowl would make something beautiful with them. 

As promised Jazz returned to the shop with donuts and pressed energon. He pulled Prowl into his lap as his mate stopped for a break and enjoyed a cuddle with his most favourite of mechs. They had made love over this counter before, when the shop had closed for the dark-cycle but there had still be a mess to clean up. It was a pretty setting but there was no time this cycle. Jazz knew Prowl would not give himself much of a break so as his mate fuelled, Jazz massaged his back savoured Prowl’s trust.  When Prowl returned to his next order, Jazz delivered the last batch of completed arrangements. He liked the way the recipients’ optics lit up with pleasure when he handed them to them. Jazz thought each pretty arrangement of crystals spread just a little bit more love around the world. 

There was not a single stray scrap of crystal left when they locked up for the dark-cycle. The counter of the shop was as close to a disaster as Prowl ever let it get, but Jazz guided him out of the shop with the promise that he would clean everything up in the light-cycle. They had their own Chosen One Cycle to enjoy. On their way home they picked up Smokescreen who presented them both with cards he had made at the sparkling centre. Jazz carried Smokescreen on his shoulders; they hardly used the stroller anymore. Smokescreen preferred walking on his own peds more often than not, but he still adored piggyback rides too. Prowl was not so big yet that  he could not carry Smokescreen anymore but he tired more easily. In any case, Jazz loved to giving Smokescreen piggyback rides as much as the mechling enjoyed taking them. Before they knew it, he would be too old to want to ride his geni’s shoulders. 

They took the long way home, walking through the park. It was pretty and sunset, and beyond that Two Bit needed to empty his waste tank. He had stood guard next to Prowl throughout the long mega-cycle without a single grumble or sigh. Jazz thought he understood the importance of his work, and there was no doubt in his processor that Two Bit loved Prowl, even lived for him. When they arrived home, Prowl saw the crystals Jazz had purchased sitting on the table and his optics went glossy with tears. They were just sitting in an elegant black tray Jazz had thought suited his mate. Prowl would bring out their full beauty.

“Pretty,” Smokescreen cooed. Their habsuite was full of crystals, full of warmth and colour and light. Prowl stroked the bismuth and smiled so sweetly. He took the tray and crystals and set the high on the bookshelf, out of reach of curious sparklings.

“They are,” Prowl agreed. “Thank you Jazz, you remembered how much I liked them.”

“I knew ya’d never buy them for yerself,” Jazz said. “Dinner’s gonna be here in half a joor. I ordered from Maccadam’s. Relax, Babe. Lemme rub yer peds, they gotta be sore by now.”

“You are spoiling me,” Prowl smiled but offered no resistance when Jazz pulled his peds onto his lap.

“Ya deserve to be spoiled,” Jazz said as he set to mass the compressed cables around his mate’s peds.

“I will help,” Smokescreen declared and he climbed into Jazz’s lap.

Helping involved more tinkling than massaging but Prowl chuckled and endured Smokescreen’s help for a few kliks. When he had enough, he did not brush him off or scold him in anyway but pull him up for a cuddle. Smokescreen curled up around his origin’s little bump and cooed at the bitlets. Just the last orn they had learned they were expecting twins. The original ember had split into two. They could not be certain yet but the medic suspected that they were likely to share his frametype or significant aspects of it. Jazz was not concerned if they turned out more Praxian or more Polihexian. So long as they were healthy, that was all that could ever matter. To help ensure this was so, Jazz would take care of their origin, and ensure Prowl was healthy in both frame and in spark.

The dinner could hardly have been called romantic with Smokescreen in attendance but Smokescreen was Jazz’s Chosen One too, not just Prowl. He had fallen in love with both of them, they were just different types of love. Prowl was happy, Jazz could see it in his optics and in his doorwings, and he was pleased. Jazz could not help but worry that the spectre of the trial could suck the joy and light from Prowl before it was over so he was committed, perhaps neurotically so, to giving him joy and to being his light. It seemed to work. He hoped it worked. But this commitment was not a temporary thing, Jazz would love and support Prowl through every step of this life they lived together. The trial was only their second painful hurtle, the first having been Prowl’s procreators’ colossal betrayal.

“Why don’t ya have an oil bath while I get Smokey down?” Jazz suggested after he had cleaned up the dinner dishes. Of course Prowl had offered to do them, but he was tired and sore and what kind of progenitor and Conjunx would Jazz be if he let Prowl strain himself with this little chore?

“If you are sure.”

“Of course, Prowler. There’s another surprise in the washracks.”

Jazz enjoyed the berth time rituals he shared with Smokescreen. He enjoyed reading the sparkling stories and singing him songs and cuddling. Smokey was not an especially difficult sparkling, not in the least, and he probably would have settled for only two stories and only one song but Jazz liked this time with him, when he was so sweet and cuddly and he could not be hurried through it. By the time Prowl appeared, Smokescreen was recharging, his turbofox plush clutched in his arms. Jazz smiled at his mate. The hot oil had given his plating just the softest of glows. Prowl was always beautiful to him, and had been since the first moment he had seen him in class. There were just these moments were he seemed ethereal and Jazz could do nothing but thank the gods for this blessing. Prowl crouched and kissed Smokescreen’s helm. The movement took a little more balancing now, his doorwing angling out as a counterweight. Jazz was fascinated by each development.

“Two Bit, berth,” Prowl ordered after he gave his cyberdog and thorough rub and scritch. They had placed Two Bit’s dog bed in Smokescreen’s berthroom. Neither could quite ignore the cyberdog when they wanted to make love. “I have a gift for you in the berthroom.”

“Just having ya wit me is a gift,” Jazz said. Prowl’s optics sparkled, and he led Jazz by the servo to their berthroom. He did not climb onto the berth, but walked over to the closet and pulled out a tall box, almost as tall as he was. Jazz was wondering how he had missed it stashed in there.

“I hope you’ll forgive the lack of wrapping but I did not want you to notice it,” Prowl said.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive,” Jazz replied. He put the box on the berth and opened it up. It was an instrument case with a narrow neck and wide base. His fuel tank fluttered, and he pulled up the latches. The lid opened without so much as a squeak. Inside the case was a beautiful Aghartan electro-bass just like the one he had pawned just a few quartexes after he and Ricochet had moved to Iacon so they could pay their rent. In stunned silence he lifted it from the case and turned it over. “This is my electro-bass. It ain’t just any one. It’s mine.”

“Ricochet told me where you had pawned it. It was just a matter of tracking the sale. I had it serviced by a smith Blaster recommended.”

“Prowl, this is amazin’,” Jazz brushed a tear from his face. “I can’t believe ya went through the trouble of findin’ my _bass_.” 

“You said it was the last gift your progenitors had given you,” Prowl replied. “I wanted you to have it back.”

“Y’re amazin’, Prowl,” Jazz said and he closed the case and kissed his mate. “Just amazin’. This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank ya. So much.”

“I love you,” Prowl said as he claimed another quick kiss. “You are so good to me, and Smokescreen. I wanted to do something special for you.”

“This is more than special,” Jazz declared, pulling Prowl into his arms. “This is extraordinary. ‘M never gonna be able to thank ya enough for this.”

“You deserve it,” Prowl replied. He sat on the berth as Jazz set the instrument aside. Though his digits itched to pluck the strings, there were other strings he wanted to pluck more. “You are so good and so kind. You have been so incredible through this ordeal.”

“I will always be here for ya,” Jazz promised as he sat hip to hip with Prowl and kissed along his jaw and neck.

“Make love to me?” Prowl asked as he vented a contented sigh.

“Ya ain’t too tired?” Jazz asked, folding his servo over Prowl’s on his forge. Prowl shook his helm.

“A little. But I want to feel you in me.”

“Lay down on yer side, Babe,” Jazz said. After Prowl did as he asked, Jazz slotted himself in against his back and ran his servo down the hot panel between Prowl’s legs. “‘N let me do all the work.”

The light-cycle started early. With the shop emptied, they filled up at the Auction and Prowl set to work preparing small posies and some midsize arrangements to restock his displays. While he got to work, Jazz kept his glyph and swept and washed until the shop was spotless. Their first customers appeared just as Prowl was opening the door. It was good he had spent the few joors before opening designing because those posies moved swiftly out the door. Guessing what sort of mega-cycle they were going to have, Jazz slipped out to get energon and donuts.  He returned to find that  _lawyer_ was back, and he set the fuel down on the counter and set the second stool right next to Prowl’s. Two Bit stood at attention as Prowl’s servo clenched tightly around his harness. Though the cyberdog was Prowl’s anchor, Jazz slipped his arm around his waist, lending his mate his support as well.

“As I was saying, the defence team has raised questions about the cyberdog. He was a trained K9 enforcer. He looks intimidating. The judge has concerns.”

“Two Bit failed that training,” Prowl countered. There as no quiver in his voice but Prowl felt his frame tensing under his servo.

“That won’t bode well...”

“He failed at bein’ a K9 enforcer. He didn’t fail at bein’ a service mechanimal,” Jazz snapped. 

“The judge has high standards. The Hall has its own service mechanimals to sooth witnesses instead of their personal pets.”

“Two Bit ain’t a pet,” Jazz snapped. “‘N he ain’t just any service mechanimal. He’s been trained to alert Prowl to crashes before they can happen. I really doubt any o’ the Hall’s service mechanimals got that precise trainin’.”

“There’s enough motions to contend with. This isn’t a smart battle to fight.”

“Two Bit was trained and registered in Praxus,” Prowl said. Two Bit stood up on his hind legs and pressed his helm against Prowl’s chassis. Prowl held him like he was the lifeline that he had become. “He meets all the legal requirements.”

“If that judge tries to make a stink I’ll sue the fragger myself,” Jazz warned. “Prowl’s got the paper, see that he gets a copy of’m. ‘N next time ya got this stupid a notion, don’t bother flyin’ to Iacon. An email woulda done fine. ‘N ya coulda saved face.”

“You aren’t helping,” the lawyer said, levelling Jazz with a disapproving look. Jazz stared right back at him.

“I ain’t here to help ya. ‘M here to help Prowl. If ya want’m testifyin’ ya best make sure ya set the record straight wit Two Bit, or ya can frag right off.”


	6. Family

Jazz covered Prowl’s servos with his, cradling the gravid mech’s swollen middle. He wanted to take away Prowl’s fears, but there was nothing he could say that could make any of this right. Two Bit had not left Prowl’s side since they had landed in Praxus. It did not matter if Prowl set him “free”, the beast stayed with him. The cyberdog had become fixated on Prowl’s abdomen almost immediately after they had kindled, as Prowl’s carrying progressed he had become singularly obsessed. With all the delays and hearings, Prowl was already in his fourth gestational quarter. They had hoped they might be able to keep his carrying more inconspicuous, but there was no hiding the _Twins_ as Smokescreen had dubbed them. Prowl had managed to weather all the anxiety and all the stress, and his forge had grown large with their bitties.

“They are going to paint me as a manipulative slut.”

“Ya aren’t.”

“The truth does not suit their narrative.”

“Ya sure ya don’t want me there?”

“I am sure I do but I do not want Smokescreen there. You are the only one in all of Praxus is I trust to watch him.”

The admission broke Jazz’s spark for Prowl. His procreators were here but Prowl did not trust them. At least he did not trust them to give Smokescreen back. It was brutally unfair, and horribly cruel. There was no escaping them, not really. They knew from the lead prosecutor that his progenitor was testifying regarding the bribe he had paid to get Chromedome, then Tumbler, to end his and Prowl’s affair. Prowl had suffered memory purges every dark-cycle since they had landed of his procreators, specifically his originator, stealing Smokescreen from him. He had suffered memory purges of him stealing the Twins from within him. Those mechanisms haunted him as much as or more than Chromedome did.

Jazz leaned his helm against Prowl’s neck and dimmed his optics. He should have been able to be in the courtroom to lend his silent moral support but Ricochet had not been able to join them at the last nanoklik. Barricade had gotten shot trying to stop some thugs from robbing the bar, and he had no one to take care of him as he recovered. Beyond that, even if Barricade had still been in the medicentre, Ricochet had not been cleared to leave Iacon since he had shot and killed the fragger that had shot Barricade. Swivel had come from Altihex to take care of the shop for however long they got stuck in Praxus. Everyone was where they needed to be. It was Jazz who was filling pulled in two directions.

“I love ya,” Jazz said, and he kissed Prowl’s neck. “Just an orn, maybe two ‘n this’ll be over. Least as much as it’ll ever be.”

“I do no know how I am going to manage... seeing them,” Prowl confessed. “I do not know who scares me more, Chromedome or my procreators.”

“Ya got Two Bit. He won’t let them near ya. He wouldn’t’ve before but ya don’t gotta ask’m to guard anymore. He’s don’t always want me come near ya, or yer sweet belly.”

“He grumbles at them,” Prowl said, leaning into Jazz’s kiss. “Like he does Smokescreen. The way he does, I think he must know there are two of them.”

“He probably does,” Jazz agreed, and he dropped a servo to ruffle the helm of the beast in question. “He can hear their sparks, I bet. He’ll protect ya. All three o’ ya.”

Though Jazz had put on a brave face for Prowl’s sake it had been absolute hell watching him leave with the victim’s service advocate who had been assigned to accompany him as he had waited in the wings, off of the courtroom where the trial was underway. Jazz should have been with him, and he was angry that he was not. He could not understand the rational of forcing Prowl, with Two Bit, segregate in the breams, or joors before it was finally his turn on the stand. Prowl had already gone over every direction the defences testimony could go, more than a thousand times over. He had twisted himself into knots. Jazz was genuinely afraid that if he was stressed any further that he would enter pre-term emergence. Prowl had told him that one of his greatest fears in this moment was entering emergence in Praxus. He did not want his procreators in the same hemisphere when his time came. Jazz had to pray to ever god that had come and gone that the bitties kept on cooking just a little longer.

As a joor came and went, Jazz grew more and more restless, in turn so did Smokescreen. He needed a nap, the mechling, not the mech, but Jazz’s stories, his songs did not sooth him. Smokey wanted his Oh Oh, and no one but his Oh Oh. Though he did not understand what was happening around him, Smokescreen felt the stress of his procreators and it had made him stressed in turn. Jazz loaded him up in the stroller he and Prowl had packed along for this express purpose and he set out for a walk. The Hall of Justice had a pretty concourse with singing crystals dangling from methane clouds woven through the branches of obsidian pine. Across from the Hall was the famous Helix Gardens. They had walked it the other evening, him and Prowl and Smokescreen. It was pretty garden, with a pretty melody tinkling through the air, but it had been hard to appreciate the beauty with Prowl wound up so tight.

He did not push Smokescreen towards the garden. Jazz did not want to be too far away if Prowl finished up before he was back in the district attorney’s office. The trial was big, the crime the headline story though the news articles said little. There was a publication ban in place, as there always was during active trials. It was different than it had been in Polihex, then it was in Iacon. In this instance, Jazz appreciated Praxus’ way of doing businesses. As they circled the concourse a third time, Smokescreen finally drifted off, and Jazz sighed. He turned at the fork and slowly guided the Smokey and stroller back up to the Hall. Jazz was so lost in thought that he almost missed the mech walking down the path towards him, but he did not miss Prowl’s originator. With a snarl on his face, Jazz turned the stroller and stood between it and Camshaft.

“I hate ya,” Jazz said and he glared up at the mech, wishing he could kill him by look alone. “I hate ya for all the ways ya hurt Prowl. I hate ya for all the ways ya still do.”

“I have no interest in arguing with you,” the silver and blue Praxian said. His gold faceplates were at first glance so different from Prowl, yet there was a strong familial resemblance. They had the same jaw, the same olfactory ridge, the same optics. Their voices were similar too, but Camshaft’s accent was more clipped, more rigidly refine compared to Prowl’s careful and cautious monotone.

“If ya come here to bribe me, get fragged. If ya come here for Smokey, get fragged.”

“My mate is testifying,” Camshaft replied. It was strange here such a low class expression from such a lofty mech. “I am waiting for him.”

“That bribe was a waste o’ credits. Prowl’d already sent the fragger packin’. Probably why he took the fraggin’ bribe to begin with. Probably thought he was stickin’ it to Prowl. Ya shoulda trusted ‘m.”

“Prowl has always been susceptible to kindness,” Camshaft said and Jazz scowled. “He was mercilessly bullied for that glitch. Mechlings, even teachers would show him some kindness and he would devote himself to them, only to find himself being used.”

“Maybe he mind o’ seen it for himself sooner if ya hadn’t smothered ‘m,” Jazz countered. He knew it was all true. He also knew how suspicious Prowl had become of kindness and it killed him a little. “Ya tried to reel ‘m in every time he tried to be his own mech. Ya sabotaged ‘m o’er and o’er. Ya never stopped.”

“I have only ever wanted best for my creation.”

“What ya thought was best. Not what was best. Ya never asked ‘m what he wanted or needed. Ya almost killed ‘m. Thank Primus he got on that transport ‘n got away or he’d be in the Well. ‘Cause ya broke ‘m down more than Chromedome did. Ya tried to steal the only reason he had to live.”

“Did you spark him to trap him in a bond?” Camshaft asked and Jazz saw red. His digits curled around the stroller’s handle. If not for Smokescreen recharging in the stroller Jazz would have killed them mech.

“I have never hated anyone as much as I hate ya, ‘n that includes the fraggers that killed my ‘genitors,” Jazz hissed. “We kindled outta love. We bonded outta love. ‘N if I catch ya so much as lookin’ at Prowl I’ll rip out yer optics and choke ya wit’em.”

“I actually believe you,” Camshaft replied, and his tone made Jazz seethe a little. He did not need this mech’s approval.”

“The problem wit ya is y’ve always held his glitch against ‘m,” Jazz said. “Maybe ya love’m, if only ‘cause he’s yers, but ya measure ‘m by as much or more than anyone else. Ya didn’t believe Polaris loved ‘m. Ya don’t believe I really do. Ya don’t believe anyone’ll love’m, but yer wrong. Prowl is loved. He has family, a real family that love’m. My brother loves ‘m. That old mech ya harassed straight outta the medicentre loves ‘m, his whole family do. This mechlin’ loves ‘m, that cyberdog loves ‘m. Prowl is worthy o’ love. He is lovable. He is loved.”

“If he has any appetite, his favourite restaurant was always Destron Pizza,” Camshaft declared

“Ya think ‘m gonna let ya ambush’m?” Jazz hissed. “Bad ‘nough he even has to be here, ‘n do this. I should be in there wit’m just so he could have a safe place to look. But I can’t be, ‘cause he don’t trust Smokey wit anyone. ‘Cause he don’t trust ya won’t just turn up ‘n steal ‘m. Chromedome ain’t the centre o’ his memory purges, it’s ya. It’s always ya.”

“We will not be there,” Camshaft hissed back. He turned on his ped and stalked back up the path. Jazz waited until he was out of sight, seething. When he trusted Camshaft was really gone, Jazz turned the stroller back around, relieved that Smokescreen had not woken. His spark was racing as he walked again towards the Hall. Maybe his glyphs had reached the mech, but Jazz had little faith. Mechanisms like that were loathe to admit they were wrong.


	7. Judgement

It might have been a test, or an apology, whatever it was Prowl was too raw from testifying to risk facing them, or to risk the being in public in general. They retreated to the hotel, and to the berth. Jazz did not dare leave Prowl, not for anything. He held his mate and their sparkling in his arms as Two Bit lay stretched out alongside them. Prowl said nothing, he quietly wept. Smokescreen kissed his originator’s face, confused by Prowl’s tears. Jazz crooned at the sparkling that his Oh Oh was hurting and what he needed was for them to love him. The sparkling listened, kissing his origin and loving on him. Prowl brought their helms together and held Smokescreen tightly as he tried to work through the wounds the questioning had ripped open again.

“ _Prowl, please tell the court about the orns leading up to that dark-cycle,” the prosecutor said._

_The smug aft that had called Two Bit a pet had been removed from the case after Prowl had informed the district attorney that he would refuse to testify if that mech every came near him again. Prowl held Two Bit’s broad helm against his forge, there was no space in his lap anymore. He wished for a moment that the prosecutor had called his bluff. Prowl did not wanted to be here, he desperately did not want to be here. As terrified as he had been that he would see his procreators in the gallery, seeing that they were not was somehow even worse. He knew that Chromedome was staring at him but he kept his optics on the prosecutor’s face. Primus, he just wanted to go home and forget. Except he was never going to be allowed to forget._

“ _Polaris had been having a hard time recharging for a while, since his case against the syndicate had fallen apart. He had promised Goldfire’s procreators that he would convict his killers. Breaking that promise was tearing him apart. He went to our family medic for a prescription but Medic Pharma recommended mnemosurgery over sedatives. He thought removing the thought train Polaris kept getting stuck in was a more permanent solution. I did not like it.”_

“ _Why were you opposed to Polaris under going mnemosurgery?” The prosecutor asked. “You utilized it in your metaforensics investigations did you not?”_

“ _I recognized the value in retrieving the memories of murder victims, they could hold the face of the killer in their degrading memory banks. I was uncovered on the use of it on living mechanisms. I endured it on three separate occasions when I was young, attempts to resolve my glitch. The procedures did not resolve my glitch and left me feeling more... fragmented and even violated.”_

“ _What did Polaris think of your concerns?”_

“ _He was sympathetic but he reminded me that he only had a nagging thought train that needed removing, whereas I had, have, a hardware glitch. I was annoyed that he did not take my concerns seriously. But when he came back from the appointment he was in a fantastic mood, and when we went to berth that dark-cycle he went into recharge immediately and recharged straight through the dark-cycle.”_

“ _Were there any signs of instability?”_

“ _Nothing. Polaris was determined to rebuild his case. He was full of energy.”_

“ _When did you realize something was wrong with Polaris.”_

“ _When I woke in the dark-cycle to him choking me.”_

“ _Did you realize you had been stabbed?”_

“ _Not yet. Not until I kicked him off of me and scrambled back in the berth. Sharp pain shot up my side went I moved. I think I crashed, maybe I just had a reset. He was on top of me again, and I saw the knife dripping with energon. I realized he had stabbed me. I realized he had stabbed me again. I managed to knock him off of me again, and demanded he explain himself.”_

“ _Did he say anything?”_

“ _No. He just stared at me. His optics were bright but... empty. Vacant. It was like he was looking right through me. I yelled at him to drop the knife and talk to me. He lunged at me. I shot him. I had not realized I had even drawn my blaster.”_

“ _Do we need a recess?” The judge asked and Prowl realized Two Bit had stood up and was moaning into Prowl’s chassis as he held his cyberdog’s collar. He was shaking. His vents were flared and his helm was throbbing._

“ _Please.”_

_If the prosecutor’s questioning put Prowl on the edge of a crash, the defence attorney’s questioning drove Prowl to the brink of homicide. He was forced to defend his reputation as an enforcer. His conduct during the time he had been partnered with Chromedome then Tumbler. As Prowl had feared the defence was trying to paint him as a slut. When the attorney accused him of carrying on an affair with Tumbler when he had been bonded to Polaris, Prowl felt his self-control snap._

“ _The last time I interfaced with Tumbler was an orn before I ended our agreement.”_

“ _Agreement? Don’t you mean relationship?”_

“ _No. There was no relationship, beyond our professional partnership. We interfaced when we had mutual urges, an arrangement your client initiated. I still have the original datanet messages if you would like to read them.”_

“ _Do you always save your romantic correspondence?”_

“ _It was not romantic. Do you want to bang is not romantic. I do keep records of my correspondence, all correspondence. I do not enjoy being gaslit and have made a point to always be able to look back at what I have said to ensure my glyphs can never be twisted.”_

_Evidence was exchanged, messages Chromedome claimed had been exchanged between them, the prosecutor was quick to rip it apart. They had been back dated, and the inbox being purported to Prowl had been created in Tyger Pax, a state Prowl had never visited. Prowl was furious that Chromedome was trying to paint him as partner in this crime. No, he was enraged. When the defence tried to suggest he had Chromedome had shared a romantic rendez-vous, Prowl had been able to quickly and cleaning offer himself an alibis. He had been on a crime scene, with dozens of witnesses. Chromedome had painted a series of clever lies once the enforcers had turned their optics on him, but just like the mech himself they were full of holes once you looked beneath the surface._

“ _The last time I saw your client was the mega-cycle I ended our arrangement,” Prowl said when he countered the defences accusations, again. “I did not want our professional relationship to sour, so I met him in my office after shift. When I turned my back he forced me over my desk and stuck his needles into my helm, just above my neck.”_

“ _You never filed charges.”_

“ _I did not want to face the humiliation of an investigation. I did see a medic so that I would have a report in case he ever came near me again, and I needed to file a complaint. He never did. So I let it go.”_

_Back and forth. Back and forth. For every lie, Prowl countered it with the truth. It was exhausting._ _W_ _hen he looked to the jury he saw sympathy and anger in their faces. Tears filled his optics. He hoped and_ _prayed that he was believed. Eventually the judge stepped in and sanctioned the defence for badgering. Prowl was finally released from the stand. His legs shook when he walked back to the district attorney’s office, clinging to Two Bit’s holster the entire time. When the door opened and Prowl saw Jazz standing there, he collapsed into his sparkmate’s arms._

They ordered Destron’s for delivery. Prowl fuelled mechanically at first but as he tasted the familiar blend of flavours he relaxed, just a little. Jazz would not leave him again. Not until this was all over. Not until they were home. Though Prowl offered to take Jazz to see other sights, Jazz declared liked the hotel just fine. He could see in Prowl’s optics and hear in his voice that he did not want to go out and pretend this was just a holiday and not one of the worst orns of his life, and Jazz was not concerned about the sights and smells of Praxus. All he cared about was Prowl.

As they secluded themselves in the hotel, the closing arguments were made and the case was left in the servos of the jury. Jazz hoped they had two bits of memory between them. They had to see how guilty Chromedome was. With the testimony of the mobsters who had paid him to take out Polaris, Prowl’s progenitor and Prowl himself the case was strong. Once you looked at the expert testimony it could not have been more clear cut but juries were not made up of drones but mechanisms. Prowl whispered that he was afraid that his promiscuity had tainted his glyphs with the jury. Jazz rubbed his back and told him that having four lovers in his life did not make him promiscuous, but Prowl did not quite seem to believe him. He blamed himself for ever interfacing with Chromedome, as if the mech’s obsession with him could have ever been his fault. Jazz could only tell him that he was not to blame for any of this, and hope Prowl would believe him in time. T hey had just put Smokescreen down for a nap when Prowl received a comm from the district attorney. He collapsed on the floor within nanokliks of accepting the ping. Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl as Two Bit pushed his helm against Prowl’s chassis. When Prowl lifted his helm his face was streaked with tears,  but he was smiling.

“Guilty,” he said. “They convicted him on all charges.”

“Ya did it, Prowl,” Jazz said and he kissed his sparkmate’s helm. “Ya got ‘m the justice he deserved.”

“They are going to seek the death penalty, but that will be in the servos of the jury. I am going to write a victim impact sentence, but I am not going to read it. I will not let that mech take any more of my life. I want to go home.”


	8. Truth

They did not remain in Praxus for the sentencing. Jazz would not have argued with Prowl if his sparkmate had needed to remain but he was grateful when the mega-cycle came and they boarded the transport for home. Maybe some mega-cycle they would go back to Praxus for a holiday, or maybe they would see Polihex. Neither place was home for them. Home was Iacon. Though he trusted Prowl to take care of himself, Jazz knew he was in a vulnerable state, so he spend his mega-cycles at the crystal shop, and made himself useful as he watched Prowl for any sign of trouble. Smokescreen did do, and it was both sparkbreaking and dear how attentive the sparkling was to his origin. Neither of them watched Prowl closer than Two Bit. The cyber dog was all but glued to Prowl’s side. He nosed Prowl’s forge as he master sank down onto his stool.

“Are ya, a’ight, Prowl?” Jazz asked as he walked over, carrying Smokescreen on his hip.

“I am tired,” Prowl said, a servo rested on his forge as he scratched Two Bit’s floppy audios. “I think I am going to have to ask if Moonracer can take over a little early. I do not have the energy to do all of this.”

“Let’s close up earlier this cycle ‘n see if Moonracer can’t start full time tomorrow.”

They walked home. Jazz kept his servo on the small of Prowl’s back as they slowly made their way down the street. Despite all the stress Prowl had been suffering through, their twins were growing strong in his forge. His medic did not know yet how early they would come, only that they would probably not quite reach term. A forge could only stretch so far, a frame only had so many resources to give. Jazz had been waiting for Prowl to make this decision. It was time for him to put his peds up and rest. As much as it was claimed that carrying mechanisms nested, Jazz thought he might have been nesting that much more. The idea of letting Smokescreen or Prowl out of his sight for a nanoklik made him feel sick to his fuel tank.

When they got home, Prowl saw Prowl and Smokescreen settle in on the couch with Two Bit at their peds before he slipped into the kitchen and made some ruby tea. Ratchet had recommended it during Prowl’s last appointment. Much to Prowl’s displeasure, pressed energon was not sitting well in his fuel tank at this stage of carrying. The ruby tea was warming and comforting. As it steeped, Jazz made a mug of goodied energon for Smokey. He loved to share in whatever his procreators were doing. When the tea was ready, he poured a mug for each of them and brought the drinks into the livingroom on a tray. Prowl smiled, like the beautiful divinity he was, as Jazz gave him his tea. Smokescreen squealed with delight when Jazz gave him his goodied energon. Jazz pulled Prowl’s legs over his lap as he claimed his spot on the couch. They were together. Everything would be alright.

He rubbed Prowl’s knee and took a sip of his tea. Prowl had been withdrawn and quite since they had received news of Chromedome’s sentence. A two hundred fifty thousand vorn detention sentence felt like a slap in the face. As much as Prowl had said that the death penalty was rarely handed out in Praxus, Jazz knew he had hoped that this horrific attack would warrant it. As it stood, the mobsters that had put the hit out on Polaris had received longer sentences and they had not put a hit out on Prowl or the bitty in his forge, that had been entirely Chromedome’s design. It was not even spark containment. Chromedome had convinced the judge that he had just been used and manipulated. Jazz was sickened by it all. The prospect of Chromedome seeing freedom enraged him. He did not know how Prowl was processing it all, he had shut down.

After he tucked Smokescreen into berth, Jazz led Prowl to their berth. He put his beloved into his arms and stroked his helm. Jazz knew better then to speak right now. There were no platitudes that could comfort Prowl. What he needed to be was a safe place for his sparkmate. After a few kliks, Prowl started to tremble and he buried his face in Jazz’s chassis and cried. It was a relief to hear him cry. Surrendering to his emotions was an ordeal to Prowl, and Jazz had become increasingly worried that he was going to work himself into a crash. As Prowl cried, Jazz held him. There was no way for him to make this right and Jazz wished so badly that he could take even a party of Prowl’s pain away.

“He does not deserve to see freedom,” Prowl said as his intakes stuttered. “His Amica claimed he is going to wait for him. He does not deserve to bond.”

“He don’t,” Jazz agreed and he stroked Prowl’s helm.

“They put him into protective custody because they are afraid the mob will have put a hit out on him,” Prowl sobbed. “He does not deserve protecting.”

“He don’t,” Jazz agreed. “Maybe they’ll get sloppy. If the fraggers are mad ‘nough they could see get to him yet.”

“I should not wish for it,” Prowl said. “I was an _enforcer_.”

“He hurt ya in the worst way imaginable,” Jazz replied. “It’s perfectly right for ya to wish for his pain.”

Jazz lay awake for joors after Prowl finally fell into recharge. He wished so much that he could give Prowl relief. It caused no small conflict in him to hope the those mobster would get their digits on Chromedome, that they would hurt him, that they would kill him. The goons who had killed his progenitors in the turf war had been members of a different gang, one with no ties to Praxus. They had refused to pay protection shanix, and they had died for it. Turmoil, the slagtard who had ordered the hit was dead because Punch had not been willing to let the murder of his sparkmates go unpunished. He would die in prison for the crime of avenging his Conjunxes long after Chromedome would walk free. It was wrong. It was so damn wrong.

Unable to rest, and unwilling to disturb his heavily gravid mate, Jazz slipped from the berth and plod into the kitchen to warm some energon. He had expected Camshaft to through his origin’s incarceration in his face, but Camshaft had said nothing, maybe he did not know. Prowl did. Jazz had told his beloved the whole of his truth. Ricochet and he had left Polihex with nothing because remaining in Polihex could just as well have been a death sentence. The gang had collapsed after Turmoil’s execution, but it was rebuilding, or something like it was. In the upheaval and the infighting, his twin and him might have been forgotten, but there had been no future in Polihex anyway. Jazz was so grateful Ricochet had cajoled him into coming along. He could not imagine life without Prowl and Smokescreen.

After drinking his energon, Jazz checked in on Smokescreen. Two Bit lift his helm and made a soft sound before he lowered his helm back to his berth. Jazz knelt next to Two Bit and gave the cyberdog a good rub. The beast rolled onto his back and wriggled his whole body, demanding a belly rub. Jazz smiled and gave in to Two Bit’s desperate wiggling and gave him the belly rub he was after. He adored this cyberdog. It was easy to recharge knowing he was guarding Smokescreen. If Prowl’s procreators dared break in, they would not get passed Two Bit. When the gawky beast was satisfied, Jazz rose and kissed Smokescreen’s helm. His family was safe. Though the thought of Chromedome’s release made Jazz sick to his fuel tank, it was millions of stellar-cycles off, and if that mech ever turned up here, Jazz would kill him where he stood. He left his creation and Prowl’s trusty cyberdog, and left them to their recharge. Careful not to wake Prowl, Jazz did not turn on any lights as he returned to their berthroom. In the darkness, he saw Prowl’s optics glow white.

“Please, no,” Prowl whimpered. Jazz threw on the light. Prowl stared at him with naked fear, his arms wrapped around his bulging forge. Fear overwhelmed Jazz, and ran to Prowl’s side.  
  


“Prowler, Sweetspark, what’s wrong? Are the bitties okay?”

“Mm,” Prowl whined unintelligible. His platting clattered and he shook violently. Jazz took him into his arms.

“I have ya, my love,” Jazz crooned. “I have ya. What’s wrong?”

“I had a memory purge,” Prowl replied as he clung to Jazz. The trembling did not stop but it did slow. His intakes were coming so fast, Jazz thought he was going to hyberventilate. “You... You were standing there. You were staring at me. Like Polaris did. Like Polaris.”

“Oh, Prowl,” Jazz said and he stroked Prowl’s back and kissed his helm. “My poor Sweetspark. I have ya. I won’t hurt ya.”

“I am just so scared,” Prowl sobbed. “I am so scared and I don’t know how to stop it. It does not matter how many times I tell myself he is locked away and he cannot touch me, I am so scared.”

“I know,” Jazz crooned. “I won’t let ‘m near ya. I won’t let’m hurt ya or our bitties.”

“I know,” Prowl clung to him. “I am sorry.”

“Shh,” Jazz tilted Prowl’s face up to his and kissed his tear stained face. “Ain’t mad at ya, Love. I understand.”

It was ages before either of them recharged again. Jazz woke with a groan as he heard Smokescreen giggle as he scrabbled onto the berth. Prowl was still dead to the world as their creation crawled over them and gave Jazz a wet kiss. With a low rumble, Two Bit jumped onto the ped of the berth and stretched out there. Jazz nuzzled Smokescreen and kissed his olfactory ridge. Maybe this was just what they needed. A mega-cycle in berth with movies and treats. It would be an excellent way of convincing Prowl to rest. He had a harder time getting up these mega-cycles with his frame’s new aversion to pressed energon. Smokescreen wiggled around and kissed his origin’s face. Slowly, Prowl’s optics lit up.

“You have master climbing into berth, my brightspark,” Prowl said. He sat up on his elbow and looked down the berth. “You are setting a terrible example for Two Bit.”

“I thought maybe we could have a lazy mega-cycle,” Jazz said as he leaned in and kissed Prowl good light-cycle. “We can start with a movie, ‘n breakfast in berth.”

“I would like that,” Prowl replied and he laid back against his pile of pillow. Smokescreen giggled as he hugged Prowl’s forge and babbled to his newspark brothers. “I love you, Jazz. I am grateful to you.”

“I love ya, Prowl,” Jazz said and he leaned over to kiss his sparkmate. “‘M grateful for each o’ ya.”

As Jazz was pouring Garbage O’s into bowls, the chime sounded at the door. He looked at the time. No one should have been bothering them this early, and his guard went right up. Jazz walked to the door, like a pneumalion stalking its prey. Somehow it did not surprise him that when he opened the door it was Camshaft, Prowl’s originator, standing there. Seething with anger, Jazz blocked the door. There was no way he was letting this mech near Prowl, not after the dark-cycle he had had. Not after the vorn he had had.

“Ya ain’t seein’m,” Jazz hissed as he dug his digits into the door frame. “I ain’t lettin’ ya hurt’m again. Never.”

“I have something for Prowl,” Camshaft said. His clipped accent revealed no impatience or anger. It enraged Jazz. “You may give it to him at your discretion.”

“What?” Jazz asked, his guard did not drop, though he took the datapad Camshaft offered him. “What is this?”

“An internal report,” Camshaft replied. “You do not have it, of course. You did not get it from me. Last mega-cycle Chromedome was put on a prisoner transport to take him to the penal centre he was assigned. There was a mix up in his paperwork. He was put on a transport with members of the Syndicate. Somehow the microphones in the trailer were all shorted. The guards did not realize the mistake until they arrived at the facility.”

“He’s dead?” Jazz asked as his optics glowed behind his visor. Camshaft’s optics glinted a dangerous, clear blue.

“He died badly.”

“I’ll pass it on to Prowl.”

“He looked larger than he did with Smokescreen,” Camshaft said, pale optics searching. Murder was an odd peace offering but Jazz could not think of a better one. He just was not sure if Prowl would agree.

“We’re havin’ twins, Polihexians from the looks o’em,” Jazz revealed. It was a test. He was not willing to feel the least bit ashamed.  
  
“I hope you will let us know when he has evacuated them safely.”

“If he wants me to.”

Though Camshaft had made no move to force past him, Jazz still locked the door before he walked back to the kitchen. He stashed the datapad in his subspace for now. It gave him no small pleasure to know that slagsucker was dead, but it was not news he could just spring on Prowl. His sparkmate was tired and fragile. Jazz would not keep it from him for long. If he heard it in the news, and then discovered Jazz already knew, he would feel betrayed, and Jazz would never betray him. He placed bowls of cereal and mugs of tea and energon onto the tray and carried it all into his beloveds. Prowl and Smokescreen were cuddled together as a cartoon played on the holo-imager. They looked up at him as he returned and smiled. Jazz could not imagine loving anyone more than he loved these mechanisms.

The love of their creation had an especially therapeutic effect on Prowl. Spending the mega-cycle cuddling in their berth did him good. He would go crazy if every mega-cycle was like this. Ratchet had warned them berth rest was potentially in the cards as Prowl’s carrying drew to a close. If it came to that, Jazz knew Prowl would bear it for love of their creations and if it did Jazz would be at his beck and call with fuel and books and anything he could possibly ask for. But Jazz would prefer if Prowl’s term carried on as it had so far. Despite the horrible stress he had been under, the twins were thriving in his forge. Jazz thought the mega-cycle cuddling with Prowl and Smokescreen was therapeutic for him too. He ran his servos over Prowl’s swollen middle as Prowl lay against him, and hoped that now the worst was finally over for them. Later, after he set Smokescreen down in his own berth for a nap, Jazz returned to Prowl, the datapad Camshaft had given him in his servo.

“I have something I gotta tell ya, Love,” he said as he sat down with his sparkmate.

“What is it?” Prowl asked, his browridge furrowed and he sucked in his lower lipplate ever so slightly. “I thought you were distracted.”

“Yer origin dropped by while I was putting breakfast together,” Jazz said, taking Prowl’s servos as the revelation saw him trembling.

“You did not say anything,” Prowl sounded betrayed and Jazz kissed his servos. “Not something I wanted to talk ‘bout around Smokey. He’s so smart, there’s no tellin’ how much he understands.”

“What is it?” His vocalizer rattled and Jazz crooned at him. “What did he want? Is that a summons?”

“No, Sweetspark,” Jazz promised. “It’s a report from the Pen. Chromedome’s dead. He died yester-cycle. Seems he got on the wrong transport.”

“My originator.”

“I think so.”

“It... it...” Prowl said as tears pooled in his optics. “It... Extrajudicial justice once angered me so much. I should not be celebrating it.”

“The system let ya down,” Jazz crooned, drawing Prowl into his arms. “‘M not sorry knowin’ that monster can’t hurt ya no more. I think this is yer procreators’ way o’ apologizin’.”

“He is still doing what he believes is best for me,” Prowl dropped his helm to Jazz’s shoulder. “I do not want him to be right. But he is right. He is.”

Jazz held Prowl’s servo as he strained in the medberth. Condensation poured off his frame as he grit his denta and pushed with all his might to see the first of their twins emerge. As the ovoid form of their first twin fell into Ratchet’s servos, Prowl gasped and wheezed with relief. It did not last. The twins were splitsparks, and Ratchet had warned him that there would no pause between the emergence of the first and the second. He was right. Prowl sagged for only a moment before his back bowed and his irised forge bulged as their second twin rushed to join his brother. All Jazz could do was hold his servo and croon his praises and support. There was a rush of lubricant as the second ovoid bitlet burst free from Prowl’s frame. Prowl collapsed into Jazz’s arms, his vorn long carrying finally over. There was a sharp cry as Ratchet unfurled the mechlings and he draped them over Prowl’s chassis. Their soft plating was shiny with the fluids that had suspended them during their construction. Jazz had tears in his optics as Prowl dropped his helm against his shoulder and laughed with joy.

To their surprised delight, Ricochet caught that perfect moment in a high quality image capture. When Jazz looked at the picture, he knew he wanted it framed and hung in a place of honour Despite what they had feared, Prowl’s procreators had kept their distance. There had been no visits from SPS. Prowl did not trust them, and might never be able to trust them again, and Jazz loathed them for how much they had hurt his sparkmate. But perhaps the emergence of their creations had made them soft and blissfully stupid, but Prowl asked Jazz to send the picture and a note to his procreators, telling them they were all healthy, as his originator had asked, and Jazz agreed. It felt right. Jazz received a response a bream later.

_They are beautiful._


End file.
